The Wrong Side of the Bed
by snoozin81
Summary: It’s Chuck Bass the villain in all the imaginary movies that constantly play out in her head and she suddenly remembers…everything, and she feels sick all over again. the morning after Victor/Victrola


The sound of running water pulls her from her alcohol induced coma but her surroundings are unfamiliar and it has little too do with the room spinning or the blurring of her vision. She sets up groaning as nausea hits her stomach threatening to expel what's left of the four martinis and the bottle of champagne she'd consumed the night before. Funny how the alcohol's all she remembers.

"You've risen from the dead I see," a familiar voice sneers from the doorway

The room spins faster because it's not Nate standing in front of her with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. It's not her boyfriend whose eyes are leering at her scantly clad body wrapped only in a thin sheet. It's Chuck Bass the villain in all the imaginary movies that constantly play out in her head and she suddenly remembers…everything, and she feels sick all over again.

"What happened last night?" She finally chokes out even though the memories are vivid now, so vivid that they're making her skin crawl.

"You don't remember?" Chuck questions stepping further into the room.

She clutches the blanket tighter around herself doing her best to avoid looking at him. Because looking at him means seeing those lips, those soft, delicious lips that had skidded across her skin chasing away all the bad memories of her break up with Nate, of the way 'I love you' had caught in the back of his throat and never made it to her ears.

"I'm trying not to," she mumbles slinking away from the hand that he reaches out to her. "Where are my clothes?"

The corner of his lips slide up into a trademark smirk, a look that most girls find sexy but that she's always found infuriating. She slides from the bed pulling the sheet with her, not wanting Chuck to see anymore of her than he already has. A smidge of dignity is better than none at all.

"Some where between the backseat of the limo and the Egyptian sheet your wearing," he offers with a shrug. "I lost track of them while you were moaning my name and begging me not to stop."

Her head jerks around, brown eyes steeled in disgust, "You are such a pig, Bass."

"You didn't seem to mind last night." He replies with an air of cockiness.

"I was drunk," she bites back defensively spotting her black satin underwear halfway under the bed and snapping them up. "This," she motions, "never would have happened other wise."

Chuck sits up watching intently as she slips the garment back on, catching a small glimpse of pale thigh, that he knows smells like lilacs but tastes like cream. He unconsciously licks his lips. She's first class, a higher standard than he's use to. Of course the attractions always been there masked in a dislike that resulted in a mass of banter and sexual frustrations that neither had ever been able to admit stemmed from the other.

"Going somewhere?" He questions, his eyes gliding over her soft curves and hard edges causing reactions in his body that demanded attention.

Her lips curl in a snarl that only adds to her attraction. "As far away from you as I can get," She snips continuing to scan the room for her lost clothing, snatching her bra off the bedroom door handle.

There's a tug in his chest that he can't explain, a feeling he's never felt before. He's use to being the one kicking out his companions. He's not use to them fleeing on their own.

"Or…" he drawls lying back on the bed and averting his eyes to the ceiling, trying to quell the strange emotion. "You could stay and we could order room service."

She finds her slip on the floor by his closet, the silver one that she'd danced in the night before. She'd knocked the breath right out of his lungs causing him to question everything he knew about her or thought he knew about her.

"I'm not hungry," she replies turning her back to chuck and dropping the sheet in order to pull the thin material over her head.

"We don't have to eat." He adds rolling over on his side and nearly loosing the towel still covering his unmentionables.

She quickly averts her eyes, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling on her pumps. The whole thing seemed surreal, like a bad dream she'd wake up from any minute, only she wasn't sure she wanted to wake up. Nothing was waiting for her on the other side of this dream. Nate didn't love her, not really, not the way she wanted him too. And her mother, God that was a whole other sob story all on its own. Her father was too busy with his new lover, Ray, Ramón, Richard, whatever the hell his name was and Serena, well Serena was back but hardly the answer to her problems.

"I have to go," she insists turning her head slightly to glance at him. He's still wearing that infuriatingly smarmy grin that causes his eyes to crinkle in the corners. A dimple dents his cheek causing Blair to bite into her lip to keep from leaning in and kissing him again.

He shakes his head, "You don't."

And she doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to clean up the mess she knows is waiting for her. Her mother's disappointment, Nate's betrayal, and Serena's questions, it's too much to take, too much to deal with, but it's her life, her job. It's part of high society.

"I have to meet my mother for brunch and if I'm late…"

He nods his understanding and she realizes for the first time that he really does understand. A small smile forms on her full lips as she pushes herself up off the bed and starts for the door. She hesitates turning back around and locking eyes with Chuck. "No one can know about this," she adds softly hating herself for saying the words but knowing no one would understand.

"On one condition," Chuck replies. "Meet me for dinner."

She starts to decline, because it isn't right, it's not supposed to be her and Chuck but she stops herself. "Dinner," she agrees turning her back on her old friend and heading out of his hotel suite.


End file.
